


Adventures in Parenthood

by Brinchestiel



Series: Destiel Drabbles, Prompts, One-shots, IDK. [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Kids, Dean and Kids, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Parenthood, dadstiel, domestiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6323788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinchestiel/pseuds/Brinchestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel Winchester have faced all sorts of odds together. Why should a baby be any different?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures in Parenthood

  **Adventures in Parenthood**

 

  Amelia Novak was nothing but astute in her search for the perfect couple to adopt her unborn child. She was no more than a child herself, only 17, destined for college, travel, all those things late-teens are meant to experience. Motherhood had no place on her agenda. 

  Dean and Castiel looked to be the perfect fit. Dean was cool, easy-going, the classic ‘dad’. Amelia was almost sure of her choice as soon as she met him, could hear cringey dad jokes lolling off his tongue as easy as the alphabet. 

  The thing that made her _absolutely certain_ was seeing Dean with his husband. Castiel was Dean’s antithesis, politeness and etiquette fitting snugly alongside Dean’s informality, his scruffy attire and easy smiles. Those smiles turned all the brighter when they fell upon Castiel’s stoic face. If Amelia felt a little intimidated by Castiel, the way Dean looked at him was enough to ease her nerves.

  As it goes, she couldn’t have got Castiel more wrong if she tried. Once the papers were signed, sealed, delivered, it was he, not Dean, who called her, texted her almost daily for updates: how she was feeling, did she need them to get anything for her, how was the scan, did she have a copy of the ultrasound. Every time her phone buzzed, she felt another wave of affection for the guy, so well put-together, so seemingly cold-hearted, yet so endlessly caring.

  He was going to be a great father. 

* * *

 

  When her due date finally arrived, _baby_ was punctual, as if they had been marking off the days on a calendar. Amidst the contractions tearing at her insides, she managed the call,

“It’s time, get your asses to the hospital,” she gasped, clutching at the seatbelt of her father’s car, before hanging up and throwing her phone over her shoulder.

  The birth was an agonising 32 hours, start to finish. According to her dad, Dean and Castiel stayed throughout the entire ordeal, hovering in the waiting room anxiously awaiting the news.

  When Castiel came to visit her, his normally perfect hair was mussed all to hell, greasy from his fingers tugging at the dark strands. He bent over the bed, placing a kiss to the top of her head. Tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them gruffly with the back of her hand.

“Remember, we said no pictures, no news-” she stuttered.

“You have our word,” Castiel placates with a warm hand to her shoulder, “you’ve done so well, Amelia. You’ve been so brave.”

“Take care of her,” Amelia whispered, and the smile she received in response was enough to send more tears hurtling burning hot down her cheeks. She lets herself be pulled into a careful hug.

“I promise.”

* * *

 

  Little Claire was a handful from the start. 

  Dean was absolutely besotted with her, couldn’t take his eyes off of her even if he tried. He particularly enjoyed his husband’s insistence that babies bond better with skin-on-skin contact. Which meant a whole lot of wandering around their cosy little house in nothing but their boxers. All the live-long day. It took him right back to when they first started dating; mornings stretching out forever in the confines of whichever bed they’d chosen the night before, waking to careful touches and warm, hesitant kisses. Cooking their dinner naked, curling up on the sofa with full bellies simply because the world didn’t expect anything else of them. 

  It was a long time since he’d seen Castiel completely relaxed like he’d been back then, but he saw it now. Cas hadn’t styled his hair in days, there was dried milk on his forearm, and his skin smelled faintly of baby vomit. 

  And Dean couldn’t think of time when he’d loved him more.

  He kissed his husband almost as much as he kissed baby Claire. He’d taken to nuzzling his nose into her warm little tummy, blowing raspberries and planting little kisses as he breathed in that strangely addictive _baby-smell_. He was addicted to it, to her. 

  That being said, there were times he genuinely wondered who her paternal father was. Because, occasionally, tiny-ball-of-adorable-fluff Claire transformed into devil spawn. 

  First it was the sleepless nights, that shattered those first few heady days mercilessly and without warning. During the day, Dean honestly couldn’t fault her, but all of her redeeming cuteness was quickly forgotten when all the lights were off and he was curled tightly around his slightly sticky husband.

  She had a cry that Dean was almost certain could be heard from Timbuktu. That could rouse bats from their cozy caves all the way in England. Almost nothing would quiet her. 

  Dean tried humming his favourite tunes, cradling her tight against his chest. _Smoke on the water, bat out of hell, back in black_ , nothing seemed to work. He’d tried the old whiskey on the end of the pinky trick, much to Cas’ displeasure. He would take her around their little house whilst he fed her from the bottle, showing her photographs of her uncle Sam, grandpa Bobby and granddad John, of her dads on various trips they’d taken over the years. Their wedding album. She would scream through all of it. Castiel fared no better, and it made them downright miserable.

  Days began to blend together for lack of sleep, which made Dean feel even worse when Cas’ paternity leave finally ended, and lie-ins and day-naps were no longer an option for him. Dean’s head swam with advice he’d found from his internet searches, from Ellen’s phone calls. 

  Then, late one Thursday, Dean was woken by something peculiar. Utter silence. He cast a glance to Claire’s cot at the end of the bed, to see his husband bent over the bars, cooing softly at their daughter. Who, for the first time in weeks, wasn’t crying. 

“Hey, how’re you doing that?” Dean pouts, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He wraps his arms tight around his husband, still wrapped in his suit from a late night at the office. He hooks his chin over Cas’ shoulder and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

  Claire has her podgy fingers wrapped tightly around Castiel’s tie. And she won’t let go.

“She sort of... just gripped it... help me get it off, I don’t want to wake her up again,” Cas whispers.

  From then on, Claire slept soundly between feeds, the navy blue, silken tie curling around her fingers.

* * *

 

  Then there was Claire’s alarming penchant for destruction. Starting with the rearview mirror in the Impala. Dean will never know how she managed to hit it clean off; will never be able to explain how she reached it, how there was so much power in those tiny arms, soft and rolled. He wasn’t even that mad.

  Mostly he was just impressed.

  And her destructive tendencies didn’t stop there. Next, it was the nice lady in the cue at the coffee shop, who’d offered to hold Claire when Dean had opted to leave the stroller in the car, but didn’t have enough hands to reach his wallet in his back pocket.

  One minute, the nice lady, a Green Earth mid 50s type, had a pair of thick rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose.

  The next, Claire had managed to snatch them off her face and snap them clean in two. Giggling all the while.

  And then, she set her sights on destroying the Winchesters’ dignity. A relaxing weekend trip to the pool with Uncle Sam, what could be better? Claire loved Sam. She _loved_ him. She would make grabby hands at him as soon as he came in through the door, gurgle happily whilst she pulled on his hair hard enough to make him wince. 

  Castiel had taken her to the baby changing unit, whilst Sam and Dean stood in the corridor waiting for him, towels slung about their shoulders, toes curling in to the damp tiles of the floor.

“She’s awesome, Dean, i’m so happy for you guys,” Sam smiles, clapping him on the shoulder.

  Dean grins so hard his cheeks ache.

  Castiel reappears looking a little ruffled, and that grin is wiped clean off.

“Everything okay?”

  Cas shifts Claire up on his hip, her _finding nemo_ arm bands squeaking with the movement. 

“She won’t poop,” Cas whispers urgently. Sam snorts, but Dean turns a glare on him.

“You won’t be laughing if she decides to do that poo in the pool, Sam,” Castiel insists, his eyes wide with panic.

  Dean turns gentle eyes to his flustered husband,

“i’m sure she won’t poo in the pool, Cas, she’s a lady.”

  Not ten minutes later. _Ten minutes._ And Sam abruptly stops bobbing Claire waist-deep in the water.

“Is that face a good face she’s making?” he says, panic edging his voice.

“Oh, God-” 

“That’s her poop face, alright,” Castiel affirms, as Dean hastily snatches his daughter, pretty in pink, from his brother’s arms and runs- ”hey! no running around the pool!” the lifeguard shouts- _speed walks_ , to the changing rooms. Castiel and Sam try not to look suspicious as they make a swift exit.

* * *

 

  Claire’s kindergarten life sees a change in living situation. Cas left his job at the office, in favour of a position that allowed him to work from home three days a week. Dean found his calling as a gym teacher at the local high school. Castiel would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate his husband in those tiny, red shorts.

  And, whilst he enjoyed the shift in responsibility, the novelty began wearing off when Claire’s kindergarten would call him. Almost daily.

 

> _“Sorry to bother you again, Mr Winchester, it’s Becky... well, no not exactly... It’s just that we operate a strict no-biting policy here at Little Angels?”_
> 
> _“I understand that she likes her Grumpy Cat, I’m just not sure little Timmy deserved to have a cerulean pencil shoved up his nose for asking to play with it?”  
> _
> 
> _“I’m not quite sure how to explain it, Mr Winchester... she just said she’d seen her fathers do it last night?”_

“What about karate? Maybe we should sign her up,” Dean announces after dinner one night, “it might help her get rid of some of that aggression.”

  Castiel crowds a sleeping Claire closer to his chest, “Dean she’s only 5. No, I don’t like that idea at all.”

“You don’t think she can hold her own in a martial arts class? What about Robbie last we-”

“Let’s not talk about Robbie,” Castiel cuts him off with a put-upon sigh.

“Come on, let’s at least have a look,” Dean says with a pat to Castiel’s knee, before reaching for his laptop. 

  Turns out, Master Chau’s classes were the best investment they’d ever made. As they watch their baby punch and kick her way through her class, they give one another a secret high five. 

* * *

 

  Claire’s early teenage years are the worst for the both of them. Claire sulks and moans, she no longer kisses Dean’s cheek, or curls up to Cas on the sofa. She rolls her eyes at Dean’s jokes, where once she would belly-laugh so hard that milk would come out of her nose.   

  She holes herself up in her room, blasting noisy music with angry lyrics (Castiel only knows that because of the amount of time he’s spent outside her closed door, wondering if he’s allowed to knock and see if she’s okay), and running their phone bill through the roof talking to god knows who. 

  After a particularly difficult dinner, brought to an abrupt end before dessert by a yelled “it’s not fucking fair!” before heavy footsteps stomped their way to their bedroom, ending the whole scene with a hearty slam of the door for good measure, Dean reaches over the table to take Cas’ hand in his.

“Hey,” he whispers, squeezing his fingers gently. Castiel wipes roughly at his cheeks, shaking his head. Dean wastes no time getting up from his chair, to crouch beside his husband’s, wrapping his arms around Cas’ hips.

“Don’t do that,” he comforts, rubbing gentle lines into Cas’ sides.

“I just don’t understand what we’re doing wrong.”

Dean can only shrug, resting his head against the soft swell of Castiel’s stomach, sighing when he feels fingers curl at the back of his neck.

“Welcome to growing up.”

* * *

 

  Three boyfriends, a girlfriend and a handful of ‘ _we don’t want to label it’_ s whizzed by in a haze of shouting matches over homework and underage drinking, movie nights with ice cream, carpools all hours, and long Summer holidays spent with Uncle Sam, Auntie Jody and baby Alex. In the blink of an eye, Claire had grown from a destructive, kick-ass baby in a karate suit and _finding nemo_ arm bands, to a beautiful, head-strong young woman. 

  A young woman who was looking at colleges. 

  And when she finally accepted her place at Berkley, and began her goodbyes, and her endless packing, she spotted something peculiar in her sock drawer.

“What’s this?” she turns the question to her dad, who’s elbow-deep in her wardrobe, grunting with effort as he tries to pull her collection of suitcases out from the confines of her clothes. 

“What’s that, bug?” Dean huffs, turning around and wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyes turn soft at the sight of the silken blue tie in Claire’s hand.

“Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that,” he breathes, reaching out to take it from her.

“It’s not mine is it?” Claire says, moving to sit next to her dad on the bed.

“It’s papa’s,” he smiles, throwing an arm about her shoulders, “God, when we first brought you home, Claire, the nights were the worst. You wouldn’t sleep, for love or money, not even for AC/DC-”

  Claire laughs a little at that, feeling a tightness in her throat.

“Then one night, you finally decided to shut up when you saw this tie. I woke up, and papa was leaning over your cot, and I thought he was cooing, but he was really urging you to wake up so he could go to bed, you were so strong, and you wouldn’t let go of it.”

  Claire hears her dad’s voice get a little tight, and she leans further into him with a watery smile.

“You slept with this tie every night until you were 5,” he laughs, threading it through his fingers, “you would hardly let it out of your sight long enough to let us wash it. I had no idea you kept it all this time.”

* * *

 

  The end of that weekend saw Claire’s belongings piled high in the hallway, all three of them making trips to and from the car, trying their best to fit it all in. 

  Claire pulls up short on the sidewalk when she hears her papa sniff. He’s looking into one of the boxes in the hall, and she runs to cover the distance between them as fast as she can.

“Papa?”

  Castiel pulls Grumpy Cat from the top of the box, his smile shaking,

“Grumpy Cat’s going with you?” 

  Claire snorts, grabbing the scruffy stuffed toy from his hands and holding it close to her chest,

“Shut up,” she whines, “I... couldn’t leave him behind.”

  The only warning she gets is the loud click of Castiel’s swallow, before she’s pulled roughly into a hug that squeezes the air from her lungs. She recovers quickly, wrapping her arms around his middle and squeezing him just as tight, earning herself a throaty chuckle. She can feel tears dripping into her hair, a couple prickling in her own eyes.

“I’m going to miss you, little bug,” he whispers.

  Dean, never one to miss out on cuddle time, wraps himself around the both of them, causing all three of them to laugh wetly.

“God, look at us,” Cas chuckles when they’ve broken apart, all three of them wiping at their cheeks. Claire watches her dad squeeze papa’s shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, before Dean turns his affections to her, gathering her up in his arms, lifting her off the floor, covering her cheek in sloppy kisses accompanied by over-exaggerated noises.

“Oh my god, put me down,” she yells through her tears, her heart constricting inside her chest.

“You’re such a dork,” she accuses light-heartedly, wiping at her cheek with the sleeve of her hoodie. 

“Honey, that’s my job,” Dean grins, picking up the last of the boxes, “you sure you got everything?”

Claire nods, turning back to Cas, who’s still cradling Grumpy Cat in his arms. She watches him smooth his fingers over the scruffy fur with a reverence she’s never seen in him, and it makes her want to hold him and never let go. She settles for looping an arm around his waist, earning her hair an affectionate ruffle.

Castiel sniffs, holding Grumpy Cat out at arms length, shaking a finger at him with a faux sternness that makes Claire laugh anew.

“You take care of my Claire, now, you hear?” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus, that spun wildly out of control!


End file.
